In the Long Run

Wim Hof of the Netherlands set a world record yesterday by staying in an outdoor ice bath for 72 minutes. The day before, I was intrigued when I saw this man take a mini ice bath (standing a mere 40 minutes submerged neck to toe in 1300 pounds) on a morning news program.

Wim believes cold is a noble force and brings about good energy, and in fact, suffers no ill effects from the ice baths. He says he controls his body temperature through mind-body meditation.

Although I would never subject myself to such an exercise, I have my own mind-body challenge going on currently in the Pilates class I teach. As the instructor, I’m supposed to help the class participants bring their minds and bodies in harmony, focusing intently on proper execution of each exercise, and blocking out distractions.

This mind-body connectivity is difficult enough in optimum conditions, and I’m finding it quite a task during the current renovation at the gym where I teach. My class is meeting temporarily in half of a full-sized gym, the other half being a make-shift weight room separated from us only by a canvas curtain. The other day, even as I admonished my class to “connect your minds with what your bodies are doing in space”, I found my mind wandering.

We pumped our arms vigorously during the trademark Pilates One Hundred, and I heard the radio blaring from the weight room on the other side of the curtain. My supervisor had declined my request to turn off the sound system during the class, and she had suggested that the radio would be a true test of our ability to stay in the "mind-body zone". I almost giggled aloud when I recognized Kenny Loggins belting out “Danger Zone”, and quickly tried to refocus.

I cued a few more exercises, and I thought I was back on track. Then somewhere around the Swan Dive and Swimming exercises, I caught myself listening to the radio again. This time it was Gwen Stefani advising, “Don’t speak….don’t tell me ‘cause it hurts…” Yes, some of the Pilates exercises kind of hurt, I thought. Well, not really hurt...maybe cause some tension and strain. But it’s all good. A strong core is such an advantage and can really…..grrrrrrrr! I’m off in left field again! Refocus.

I was a mind-body machine through the Leg Lift Series, and even through Leg Pull Front. We were on the Full-Rollover/Full Rollup superset, with just one exercise to go. But it was no use. I heard Bon Jovi appropriately summing up my whole class, “We’re halfway there….living on a prayer.” I was halfway focused, halfway connected, and had half a prayer of staying in the mind-body zone.

Obviously I have quite a way to go to reach the Zen-control of Wim Hof. His next goal is to run a marathon in shorts at the North Pole. Here’s a song for you, Wim; try staying focused as it replays over and over in your head: “You’re cold as ice…you’re willing to sacrifice…”

I call it a boa, but the package it came in identifies it as a “Magic Scarf”. I gave it to myself for Christmas, a common practice of mine for which some have called me selfish, and perhaps rightly so, but for which I refuse to apologize, and brazenly admit does not make me lose too much sleep at night.

The magic scarf appeals to the senses in many ways—bright and colorful, fuzzy and soft. It is 100% polyester, and 100% non-American-made, for which I lamely apologize, but, again, brazenly admit does not make me lose too much sleep at night.

The package illustrates eight versatile ways of wearing the magic scarf, although some of the variations look suspiciously similar.

I think it looks striking with my black jacket and my pea coat, which I wear frequently to church functions in the current winter temperatures. So the boa has become an indispensable part of my winter outer wear. It is a fairly unique, and I daresay, desirable, item. I have seen similar products, but few that are just like it. There’s just one problem.

I was so charmed by the boa that I bought several for gifts, and I gave one to a woman at church for whom I was a “Secret Santa”. So now I’m worried that she will see me at church meetings wearing my boa, and instantly identify me as the heretofore anonymous giver. I’m torn, because my church functions are the majority of occasions for which the boa is appropriate attire. I mean, I could hardly wear the boa to my job at the gym with my standard workout clothes without raising a few eyebrows.

Still, I refuse to be a closet boa-wearer. Today I boldly wore my boa to church, breezed into the chapel and sat down in the pew. Then I made my Key Limey scan the congregation for the other woman, preparing to hide my feathery accessory quickly in my bag should she be present. She was not there today, so the beautiful boa graced and warmed my neck throughout the service.

A couple of months ago, I discovered that my middle son, Arnold Pants (one of his self-appointed pseudonyms), and I were both avid viewers of cable re-runs of 24, a thrilling television action series. So I readily agreed to watch video rentals of Season One episodes with him and my other sons during the Christmas holidays.

At first my Key Limey spurned our attempts to coax him into watching the shows with us, despite our assurances that he would find the series intensely exciting and appealing. We described to him how the main character, Jack Bauer, is a man’s man, the ultimate renegade, but immensely likeable good guy, whose quick and lucid thinking extracts him from many dangerous situations, all in the admirable cause of saving the United States government, its citizens, and by golly, even the entire free world, from terrorists. (Jack is also ruggedly handsome and charismatic, and has a raspy sexy voice, but I didn’t bother to try to sell my Key Limey on those character advantages.)

One night out of boredom, or perhaps, curiosity, my Key Limey joined us in watching our nightly episode. He was hooked. In fact, after we had watched three straight shows, he protested the end of the viewing, even though it was after 2 AM.

24 is definitely addictively entertaining. It leaves my Key Limey and me with some questions about the series:

Is the edgy violence tolerable because its effect is neutralized on a smaller TV screen? Would the series retain its dramatic punch with less of it?

How many times can one person face so many life-threatening situations in 24 hours?

Are all our government special agencies infiltrated with traitorous moles?

How is it that vital phone calls to CTU always go to Nina’s extension? And where can I download that distinctive ringtone for my cell phone?!

Why does CTU allow non-employees (Teri, Jack’s wife, for instance) to wander around this top secret agency unattended?

Can there ever really be a US president with the integrity of David Palmer?

Since the show depicts real time, what is happening during the minutes of the commercials? Can’t we get that action in outtakes?!

If not for the strike of the Writer’s Guild of America, Season Seven of 24 would have aired tonight. The season has been postponed, to ensure a non-stop season of continuous episodes. I’m disappointed, but mollified by the fact that now I’ll have some time to watch the previous seasons I’ve missed. I eagerly anticipate bringing myself up to date with Seasons Two through Six. I could almost watch 24 24-7.

The Christmas holidays whizzed right by in a flurry of visiting and celebrating. All of my immediate family made their way home despite treacherous blizzards, swelling our house occupancy from two to nine.

We talked, joked, debated, matched wits at board games, spoiled The Little Princess, attended Church together, played basketball and a lot more pickleball, watched an entire season of “24”, and marveled at Big Guy’s amazing mastery of Guitar Hero.

We were busy with other important activities as well. Most of the family attended a college football bowl game, and our team pulled out a last minute victory. We had a successful family portrait sitting, for which my daughter cheerfully coordinated our outfits, resulting in one big handsome family! Big Guy received his Eagle Scout award at a Court of Honor, at which all the male members of our family proudly stood as current Eagle Scouts. The Little Princess’s father celebrated a twenty-something birthday, with obligatory chicken rolls and lemonade pie. My Key Limey and my middle son participated in a somewhat disappointing, but politically interesting, presidential caucus.

We all enjoyed the camaraderie and companionship. For me, my son the new lawyer, said it best when he offered some remarks at Big Guy’s Eagle Scout Court of Honor. He recounted how when Big Guy was born, he had not been sure how much interaction he’d have with Big Guy, since they are 9 ½ years apart in age. He then said, “And now, I count you, [Big Guy] as one of my best friends.”

An old saying quips that you can’t choose your relatives, but you can choose your friends. I am happy to choose these relatives, my family, as my best friends.